


The Living Doll

by morgan_cian



Series: Story Snippets [4]
Category: Original Work
Genre: BDSM, BDSM Scene, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-22
Updated: 2013-07-22
Packaged: 2017-12-21 00:57:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/893924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morgan_cian/pseuds/morgan_cian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anna visits the doll maker</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Living Doll

**Definition:** Agalmatophilia is a paraphilia concerned with the sexual attraction to a statue, doll, mannequin or other similar figurative object. In a broader sense the term may refer to sexual fantasies about oneself and/or others being transformed into, or simply rendered as motionless as, a statue, mannequin or doll. Agalmatophilia is also known as: Statuephilia or Pygmalionism after the myth of Pygmalion. It is also listed as an uncommon sexual fetish or paraphilia.

*~*

Anna took the train. She was nervous. He didn’t always call for her. To her knowledge he worked with five other girls. It was an honor to be selected. Squirming a bit, she drank down plenty of water. Hydration was important. It was going to be a long night.

The cab ride was short from the train station. He was waiting as always, paying the fair and taking her by the elbow. The steps were unhurried and gentlemanly as he opened the door for her, placing his hat on the table.

“You have thirty minutes.” He lifted her hand and placed a gentle kiss against her knuckles.

Thirty minutes was not long. She hurried into the bathroom and began the final touches of preparation that had begun when she got the call. Taking a deep settling breath, she wrapped the waiting robe about her nude body.

His hands were always warm and sure. Meticulous. His eyes were serious and gentle at the same time. The process was routine and comforting.

She was given one last chance before everything had to settle for the process to begin. He gave her a swig of water to moisten her mouth. First, every inch of surface had to be clean, smooth; nothing to mar the canvas for his work. Second was the positioning. A bend here, tilt there, the light just so. And then would begin the actual artistry, from bottom up. He said he always left the best for last.

He selected earth tones for his palette, a reconnection to nature. Dark browns, pale greens, oranges, yellows, gold. Bracelets of leaves, raindrops of clear crystal.

Mutterings of “No, no, not there,” “not quite,” “mmmmm” “yes, yes,” and “not pearl, needs a bit of cerulean.” Lips would pucker, flatten out, white teeth flashed, biting, clicking, tongue would curl and flick in constant animation, articulating the dancing movements of his hands.

Finally, he would step back and wipe his hands on a soft cloth.

The air would be heavy with expectation.

With a quiet gust of breath, satisfaction warm and moist, like a kiss against the canvas of living flesh, he would sigh, “My beautiful doll.”

Anna’s eyes were at half mast and she watched him with adoration. He stepped back from the pedestal. His paint stained jeans were shoved down his thighs. His breathing was heavy as his hand jerked his cock. His lips would part, he groaned over and over as he came, “My doll, my beautiful, beautiful doll.”

*~*

It was a small gathering. And as much as he hated anyone in his space, he had to share her. He needed to show the world the beauty of his work.

His living doll.

The table was set for three, himself, another doll maker, and an interested party inquiring into his work. The meal was light and conversation flowed like honey.

“How do you find…”

“How many dolls have you made?”

“A portfolio, lovely, I need to update my own as well.”

“May I?”

He sat back with his coffee cup, “Of course, art is meant to be appreciated.”

The woman took out glasses and shoved them up against the bridge of her nose. “This makes me think of mythological figures, a woodland nymph. All she needs is Pan to ravish her.” Her hand hovered in question.

“You may touch.”

He watched the woman's inquisitive fingers touch the accruements, the small twigs wound about soft, sable hair. Her thumb brushed over the pierced nipple, lifting the tear drop jewel before lowering it once more.

Only the subtle shiver revealed flesh instead of marble.

She stepped back and pinned him with a heated look, “Is this for sale?”

He met the glazed, adoring eyes of his masterpiece. “No. She is not for sale. She is mine alone.”

There was more talk of technique and adornments but the night had begun to slow. He told them each good evening. Flicking off the lights except for the spotlight, he took a glass of wine and stepped near the pedestal. One last moment to enjoy his work.

Placing a finger beneath the chin and lifted. Eyes blinked once, twice, and then fluttered slowly. Her lips tightened before she moistened them. She lowered her eyes in reverence.

“Thank you, sir.”

“You are quite welcome, my darling doll,” He kissed her forehead as he eased from the pedestal.

Anna hissed. Her body was stiff, just moving caused the pins and needles sensation. He chuckled against her hair. Lifting her, he carried her into his master bath.

He was so gentle. Removing the adornments and placing them into the waiting container, he eased her onto her feet in the middle of the large tub. Like another pedestal, Anna thought as warm water flowed around her ankles.

He started at her feet again, washing away paint and glue, letting it drain away. The touch was gentle and business like. He replaced her simple hoops, threading them through the puckered flesh of her nipples. She couldn’t hold back a quiet moan of need. She was tired when he finally laid her down into the tub, washing her hair thoroughly.

Her thighs were spread gently even as her nape was cradled in the palm of his hand. “That’s it,” he muttered as his fingers slipped within her body.

She couldn’t hold back under his touch, the way it curled, the pressure against the hidden nub of flesh. As she relaxed in the aftermath, settling into the comfortable chair with a cup of tea, her thoughts returned to the doll maker as he fixed a tray of food. He brought her body to orgasm every time but she knew it was not her that he saw. He saw his creation, his living doll.


End file.
